Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 329 : In the Name of Sloth (2)

"How much longer until we get there?"

"We'll arrive shortly if we keep up this speed."

A full week had passed since Alon set out toward Ashtalon.

He failed to connect the disturbances in Ashtalon to the emergence of the Sin of Sloth because of three key reasons.

The monsters came first.

Even though the tale had strayed far from its initial path in numerous ways, the Sins' forms remained largely the same in Alon's knowledge, along with their core aims.

Put simply.

No matter how the narrative veered off course like a chaotic ripple, their basic intentions stayed true to what Alon recalled.

As he saw it, the Sin of Sloth avoided slaying monsters.

Its victims were invariably humans and fellow thinking species; it steered clear of creatures labeled as monsters by the Allied Kingdoms.

And most importantly, the Black Territory loomed large.

Right from the Sin of Sloth's birth, the Black Territory started seeping into the surface world.

Thus, once whispers emerged of the Black Territory invading the surface, it signaled the Sin of Sloth's presence without doubt, though spotting it otherwise proved tricky.

The Sin of Sloth and the Black Territory bound together tightly, forming the beginning and end of that Sin's might.

"Evan, what's the latest update?"

"Folks started flocking here the moment Ashtalon called for help."

"Quicker than we figured."

"Usually, like you said, they'd drag their feet, but King Shtalian V must've dangled an irresistible prize."

"An irresistible prize?"

"Yeah. From the rumors I've caught... the name slips my mind exactly, but it's supposedly an abyssal core free of drawbacks."

"An abyssal core free of drawbacks...?"

"That's right."

"That alone raises red flags."

"Word is the benefits are legit, so everyone's rushing in. The Mage Tower's involved too, naturally."

Evan gave a shrug, drawing Alon's eyes naturally elsewhere.

A band of mages journeyed alongside Alon to Ashtalon, and within that group, Sharan and Celaime chatted animatedly.

"Having this crowd should make tackling the Sin simpler than last time, yeah? Or has it wrapped up already?"

"What makes you say that?"

"A couple more powerhouses showed up, and two of Caliban's swords reached Ashtalon already. They might've handled it. Rumor has it they charged in with a massive force."

As Alon observed the mages, Evan pressed on with his briefing.

After some moments, Alon finally broke his silence.

"Sheer numbers won't halt it."

"I figured as much. Even three top fighters dropped already... still, the troops could tip the scales."

Evan, on the verge of tacking on something about how numbers count in fights—, cut himself short, as if a memory from before struck him.

"...Yeah, probably not."

He was spot on. Back then too, without Rine, beating the Sin would've been out of reach.

Alon sank into heavy contemplation, and time slipped by.

"We're here."

Finally, Alon and his companions entered the Kingdom of Ashtalon.

And right away.

"Ah—"

Soon enough, Alon exhaled a quiet sigh unwittingly.

He wasn't alone in that.

All who perched on the cliff gazing down at the Kingdom of Ashtalon reacted similarly.

It made perfect sense.

The scene of Ashtalon unfolding before them was—

"...This isn't merely grave; it's a total disaster."

"It truly is."

The horror twisted their faces in dismay.

Alon gaped at the spectacle in a daze.

The Black Territory edged so near now that it could swallow Ashtalon within mere days.

Forests and meadows already drowned in it gleamed crimson with gore.

A constant reek of blood hung in the air, while shapeless meat clumps—not quite zombies—shambled sluggishly, turning on one another.

Merely one horde.

Yet labeling it "merely" a horde...

The synchronized motions and the glimpses through their gazes.

Everything exposed the atrocities unfolding within that Black Territory.

For a stretch, Alon and the rest stood frozen in place, speechless and rooted.

***

Within the Kingdom of Ashtalon, Alon crossed paths with known figures.

"Oh! Master!"

"Brother!"

Seolrang and Radan came first.

"Brother—!"

"Marquis—!"

"Saint, and Filian."

Yuman and Filian followed.

And at last.

"Marquis~!"

"Eliban, you've made it here too."

"Given the mess! I'm thrilled to reunite...!"

Eliban's beaming visage clashed with the ongoing peril.

Unlike his upbeat vibe, the group's faces stayed grim.

That notion flickered through Alon's thoughts as he eyed their gear, then addressed Eliban.

"When exactly did you get here?"

"Two days back."

"By chance, about the state of things—"

Mid-question, he grasped no need for it.

"We're pulling out."

"You're joking, right?!"

"What? Which bit doesn't add up?"

"The plea for aid from the Allied Kingdoms!"

The strategy session already brimmed with disorder.

"A plea for aid! I know full well! I, Count Minmanmar from the Colony Kingdom, brought troops and Baba Yaga here to answer that call!"

"Then why declare that!"

"Since the aid won't matter a damn!"

Count Minmanmar shot a fierce glare at Duke Bemanta of the Ashtalon Kingdom, his debate partner, then jabbed a finger outward at the Black Territory.

"See that! It's practically at our gates! How in the world do you intend to combat it?!"

"As I've explained, our probes show that halting the Black Territory requires piercing to its heart beyond—"

"It's not as if we skipped trying! Can't you spot that?"

The count pounded the table, nearly splintering it, then gestured sharply.

There, grotesque flesh blobs ripped into each other with mechanical fury.

"Those abominations... they're our fighters! We pushed to scout the core exactly as you suggested, and this is the result! They donned anti-magic relics, per your guidance!! And ended up like that—!"

"I never deceived you!"

"Ha! Sure! But you omitted how those relics wouldn't hold past ten minutes!"

"The probes weren't done yet—!"

"Regardless, I'm withdrawing! This screams suicide! I refuse to waste my soldiers' lives!"

"Count me in."

"Sir Kerma! Even you—!"

At Duke Bemanta's outburst, Kerma, Caliban's fourth sword, shook his head.

"Count Minmanmar hits the nail on the head. We're powerless here. Unless the kingdom pulls off handling the Black Territory somehow—"

Everything else felt pointless.

Kerma muttered under his breath, deepening the furrows on Duke Bemanta's brow.

Such was the desperation gripping the scene.

Those who'd probed the Black Territory somewhat now sought to yank their backing.

In the midst of this turmoil, Yuman plunged into profound reflection.

His countenance grew shadowier than before.

Alon averted his eyes from the Saint and fixed them on the Black Territory.

It mirrored the original tale and the game he remembered.

The Sin of Sloth swelled in power as the Black Territory expanded.

In the source material too, delays in player prep let the Sin build strength, prompting many to dive in raw and hasty.

But now, this wasn't the opening or middle acts—it was the endgame.

Worse, it hit the peak of the Sin's dominance.

Thus, the Sin confronting Alon presently might match or surpass the Sin of Sloth from his initial expectations.

That explained it.

"Might I have a word?"

With infighting erupting now, victory odds would plummet to zero, so he interjected, discreetly stirring his mana.

The tension hung thick in the air.

He doubted one remark would shift the vibe swiftly, so he readied a subtle mana boost for his voice.

Yet.

"Ahem, if Marquis Palatio desires to address us—"

Before mana could flow—

"We'll hear him out."

"Ahem—"

The assembly hushed promptly, throats clearing.

"......?"

Alon blinked in brief confusion but awkwardly dispersed his mana.

"Hmm—"

In the hushed chamber, he mulled over his opening.

"First off, I possess a strategy."

With that launch, his thoughts whirled.

Naturally, from their view, swallowing Alon's claim blindly would be tough.

These arguers had reached the kingdom days prior and grasped the Black Territory's absurdity fully.

So, skepticism or irritation at Alon's assertion was expected.

Though tasked with swaying them, pressure barely weighed on him.

He might not grasp erasing the Black Territory completely, but he held the key to easing this doom.

As Alon prepared to weave convincing words—

"If Marquis Palatio holds a strategy, it's definitely worth our ears."

Count Minmanmar, raging moments before, advanced.

"......?"

Alon found himself startled anew.

Still.

"Indeed, Marquis Palatio earns our faith."

"??"

"I suspected he carried the answer, and here it proves true."

"???"

Once more, they met him with straightforward (?) endorsement.

In this unforeseen twist, Alon scanned the nobles' visages.

Trust shone purely from them.

And then.

"Naturally, I knew Master had a scheme."

"Brother's got this, obviously—"

"Just like Brother!"

"Marquis, you're incredible...!"

"As expected~"

Everyone in the meeting beamed unyielding confidence, no doubts raised.

As though declaring, 'We trusted you from the start, duh!'

This let Alon seize the room's reins with minimal effort.

In a twist, the rock-solid backing left him faintly queasy.

Only Evan caught Alon's subtle unease.

***

The following day.

"So that's the famed Pirate King's vessel."

Beyond Ashtalon's walls.

Count Minmanmar gawked upward at the enormous skyborne ship.

He wasn't solitary in that.

"That's—"

"Unbelievable."

"What sorcery powers it?"

"Modern spells couldn't achieve that—"

Troops and mages summoned outside Ashtalon's barriers at Alon's behest also gaped in wonder at the aerial craft.

While mages oohed in fascination, soldiers' looks stayed dour.

The vast ranks assembled grasped all too well the Black Territory's terror, now knocking at their threshold.

One hovering ship couldn't erase their dread of the Black Territory.

The Black Territory's fright and terror had burrowed deep into their psyches.

Hence.

Count Minmanmar too lifted his eyes skyward with a mixed grimace, mulling Marquis Palatio's outlined scheme from yesterday.

Right then.

"......Brother, Rebo's hit the highest it can climb. Should we ascend further?"

"This height suffices."

"Got it."

On the deck with Radan, Alon drew a steady breath and advanced to the prow.

—Hoo—

Upon gaining the prow, a fierce, icy gale whipped at his rear.

He gazed wordlessly at the landscape below, shrunken to toy-like scale, all seeming distant and unreal.

Then Alon parted his lips slowly.

"Basiliora."

[Speak.]

"Prepared?"

[Always.]

"Blackie too?"

[Meow-!]

With Basiliora and Blackie's assured replies, Alon peered toward the Black Territory.

Alon accepted this with composure.

The peril had surpassed his game encounters.

Unlike the prior aerial Apostle assault, this empowered Sin of Sloth meant aerial entry via Rebo into the territory risked grave issues.

In a game, 'Game Over' would've flashed by now.

Indeed, in a game.

But Alon's reality wasn't a game.

Thus, hope lingered.

Under normal circumstances, drawing out the Sin of Sloth—now hunkered in its impregnable core, safe from strikes—would prove impossible.

Alon shaped a hand sign.

His left hand thrust ahead, index and middle fingers outstretched.

Then, drawing on Heinkel's talks.

—This diverges basically from Light magic's buildup. Most terms and phrases in Light magic shape to finalize that incantation. But this varies. To be precise, this leans less toward magic and more toward a—

"Transformation."

He uttered the term.

—The element devours light ceaselessly, reshaping molecular forms, and siphons heat nonstop to birth a sun, correct? Yet this differs. This is, to be exact—

Mana molded into a staff started sharpening like a pin.

"Condensation."

—A technique to turn mana into raw physical might.

The pin, refined to near-invisibility in Alon's sight, compressed further.

"Rotation."

—Letting the user reshape any spell into sheer physical power and hurl it forth as a strike.

It whirled at high speed on the spot.

The incantation hung incomplete.

Two phrases remained unspoken.

This marked the phase to channel mana into the conjured spell.

"......"

Alon eyed his crafted magic.

It appeared so delicate and feeble, liable to shatter in the gusts at any instant.

Even sans mana infusion yet, its shape wouldn't alter greatly.

Such was the case.

Alon's mana core dwarfed others' in size.

Thus, this mana-guzzling spell mismatched Alon terribly.

Nevertheless, Alon offered a faint grin.

Magic Bolt never fit the first Alon one bit.

That rang true.

But oddly, this spell was—

"Defy the Heavens."

Ideally tailored for Alon.

Crack-crack-crack—!!!!

The heavens warped.